Summer had come close to it's end, which meant that I wouldn't be able to sit outside on my porch any more. I love to sit on the porch after a long day of work. I like to sit on the porch and smoke cigarettes and look at what the world is up to. I don't pay attention to the neighborhood during the rest of the year, I'm not much of an outdoors person when the weather gets cold. I have bad sinuses and they drip like a mother fucker when it's cold outside. Not only that, but the cold air makes me cough if I smoke out in it.

I've gotten to know all of the new people and their kids on the block. I don't know them, but I have watched them all summer long. I'm too shy to talk to anyone, I feel like I'm worth less than a pile of horse shit. I've always felt this way, but it has gotten worse after my divorce. These days I just can't get this lump out of my throat or the load of bricks off of my shoulders. I try to shake all of the bad feelings I have, but it doesn't work. The only thing that happens is another day goes by and I'm that much older. I don't mean to sound too depressing, it's just how I feel about things. I'm not really depressed, after all, this is the best time of year. The summer time is when we all feel young again, no matter if you are so old you have one foot in the grave.

Every night after I eat my supper I sit on the porch and watch what everyone else is doing. Sometimes I bring the paper out and read it, or listen to the radio. It depends on what's going on around here, some days are busier than others. I met this guy who walks along my sidewalk every day when he get's off work. He is an older guy, but I'm no spring chicken myself. He came up on my porch and was talking to me one day, though I never met him before. He always wears faded blue jeans and a dress shirt that looks like someone ran over it with a car. There are so many black stains on it, you would swear that the man was half cow. He used to walk by and say hi, but now he stops and we talk for awhile. His name's Jim and he likes to drink scotch with a dash of water in it. I went to the store and bought a bottle of scotch so I could offer him something to drink when he stops by each day. Every week day he walks by at exactly 6:20 on the dot. I could set my clock by that and not be a minute off. That is how long it takes him to walk to my place from his job. Usually I get him a glass of scotch and I put some water in it for him. We sit on the porch and talk about all the things that's going on. Jim doesn't live in my neighborhood, he lives about two blocks down from here. He lives right across the street from where the old warehouse used to be. A few years ago they knocked it down and turned it into a parking lot.

I finished my supper and sat on my porch and smoked a cigarette. I knew that Jim wouldn't be over for another twenty minutes, so I had time to smoke a cigarette before he came over. I have been smoking the long cigarettes, they said one hundreds on the pack. I've never smoked these long cigarettes before, but I'm not sure that there is any more tobacco in them than the normal ones. I've debated with myself on this subject, sometimes I come to the conclusion that they just put a longer filter on the cigarettes. They are longer, only because the filter is longer. I don't know about that, Jim doesn't either. Jim, he smokes the cigarettes without the filters on them. Usually he smokes Pall Malls but when he doesn't have the money, he buys the cheap generic cigarettes they sell at the gas stations. Jim says that the filters take away the best part of the smoke. I asked him if he meant the part that kills you faster, but Jim just shook his head. My Dad smoked those things, not Pall Malls, but cigarettes without the filters on them. He died at fifty six, I think because of the unfiltered cigarettes, but I'm no doctor. I don't know that smoking cigarettes with the filters on them will make me live any longer, but I try to tell myself they will. I think the nonfilter cigarettes are too strong, they make me cough. You should hear Jim cough sometimes after he lights a cigarette. Some times he coughs so hard, he almost throws up.

I looked down at my watch and I realized that it was only five minutes until Jim would be over. I ran inside the house and mixed him up a scotch and water and I got myself a rum and Coke. I like having an evening drink, I think it is good for the nerves. Not only that, but I like to have a drink when I'm around someone who is drinking. I think it makes the conversation go more smoothly. I mixed his drink and I ran out to the porch. I looked down at my watch and saw that I only had one minute to go. I mixed myself a drink that was a little stronger than what I normally would have, I was feeling kind of depressed about how the summer was about to be over. Soon I would have to go inside and live the life of a shut in. I haven't thought about what will happen with me and Jim, though I don't know if there is much between us. I love his company and he is a nice guy. But, I just don't know what will happen. I guess he could come in and we could have a drink inside, but that will be up to him.

I got up out of my chair and I saw that Jim was walking down the street. He was about a half a block away, but I knew that he would make it to my porch at the same time he always does. I looked at him, but he didn't notice me looking. His head had stuble on it, like he hadn't shaved it in a few days. Jim is bald and ashamed that he is bald. He thinks that no one can tell that he is bald if he shaves his head. I haven't told him, but I can tell when his hair starts to grow back. It doesn't even have to grow back, just a five o'clock shadow on his head tells me that he is bald on top. Not that I care, I could care less how much hair he has. My exhusband was bald on the top, but combed a few strands of hair over the bald area. Like Jim, he felt that he could hide the fact that he was bald on top. He couldn't, but neither can Jim, no matter how much he thinks to the contrary.

"How are you doing?" Jim asked as he walked up my porch steps.

"Not bad. You?" I asked as I watched his man boobs bounce as he walked.

"You know how work is, it wouldn't be called work if it was fun." Jim said as he sat down in the lawn chair next to me.

I looked over at Jim and tried not to look like I was staring at his head. For the life of me I can't figure out how he can think people can't tell that he's bald. We've really never talked about it much, but he told me that he wasn't really bald. I'm not sure what he meant by really bald, but he was about as bald as they come. Jim looked tired, the wrinkles in his face made him look even more tired. He picked up the glass with the booze in it and took a long sip. He then lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nostrils.

"Summer is just about over," I said, trying to start a conversation.

"It sure is, soon we'll be shoveling snow," Jim said as he blew smoke while he talked.

Every now and then Jim would get some tobacco on his lips while smoking. My dad did the same thing when he smoked, Jim always reminds me of him. I remember being a kid and thinking of my dad as a dinosaur with the brown leafy tobacco stuck to his lip. I don't know why I thought that, but I thought of that until I was in my teenage years. Until I started smoking, that's when I stopped thinking about it. I have no idea what my smoking had to do with me not thinking about it, but that's when it stopped.

"It smells good inside your house," Jim said as he pointed his nose to my screen door.

"I cooked up some fried chicken and fried potatoes," I said as I flicked the ashes off of my cigarette.

"Sounds good, I'm fucking hungry," Jim said as he took a drink of his scotch and water.

"You want me to make you a plate? I've got plenty left," I said as I looked over at him.

Jim looked tired, like someone who has health problems. I keep wanting to tell him that he is too old to be working the job he does. He's a janitor, he busts his ass off all day long cleaning. I keep telling myself that it's not my job to say these kinds of things to him. It would be if we were seeing each other or living together, but even then I wouldn't dare say anything to him about it. You know how men are, it will be another ten years before he realizes that he's an old man who can't keep up with the young crowd.

"No need to get up on my account," Jim said as he stomped out his cigarette in my ashtray.

"It's not a problem, I'll go get you a plate right now," I said getting up.

I went into the kitchen and touched the chicken to make sure that it was still was hot. It wasn't hot, but warm enough that it wasn't cold. I put two chicken legs on a plate and filled the rest of the plate with fried potatoes. That's all I fixed, I didn't feel like cooking much. I actually thought about going to one of those drive thrus to get something, but I wasn't in the mood for a hamburger. I mixed myself another drink and I got Jim a beer. I don't feed him often, but I know that he likes beer with his food. We probably drink too much, but it's only a couple drinks a night. I don't know how much Jim drinks when he goes home, but I never have more than two or three drinks.

I walked out to the porch and handed him the cold beer and the food. Jim thanked me and didn't waste one minute putting the chicken leg up to his mouth. Jim would take turns taking a sip from the scotch and then one from the beer. I'm not much of a beer person, I'll have one every now and then to clean out my kidneys. I keep some on hand in case Jim wants one, he usually does if I give him something to eat. Jim ate so fast, he looked like one of those starving third world kids that you see on television. I don't think Jim can cook, well, maybe he can cook pasta and soup that comes in a can. Jim says that he doesn't like to eat, that's why he can't cook very much. I don't think he ate the chicken and fried potatoes like a man who doesn't like to eat. For a man who doesn't eat much, he sure has a chunky body. He has tits so big, that he could wear a training bra. Maybe that isn't really that big, but he does have tits.

Jim finished the food quicker than I could finish my drink, which is saying a lot. Jim put the plate on the little table that I keep outside for us to put our drinks and the ashtray on. Half of the plate was off of the table, but I didn't mind. It was a plastic plate that wouldn't be able to break if it fell on the porch. I don't use good China or glass plates, I'll leave all that stuff for the rich folks. Me, I just like to use plastic plates because they don't break. I raised two kids, so I know a thing or two about stuff like this that breaks. I learned early on, stay with plastic or someone will get a bad cut. My son ran through the house one time and broke a drinking glass when he fell on it. I had to take him to the hospital so they could dig it out of his skin. After that, I went to the store and bought all plastic stuff, that way I wouldn't have to sit at the hospital again and watch a doctor dig glass out of my kids.

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